Survival

Survival: Chapter Two

• Chapter Two: •

The dude and his car smell like pot, coffee, Takis and shit. The back of his car is full of his stuff. Looks like his home is also his vehicle. He has his clothes, his razors, shaving cream, shoes in here. Everything. I think I even heard a dog bark underneath his pile of socks. However, nothing seems interesting enough for me to steal of borrow permanently.

"So, kid what were you doing walking on the edge of the road by yourself," he asks, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Um, I was on my way to visit my grandparents," I lied. I don't even have grandparents. All of them died before I was even born

"Yeah, really kid? With no suitcase and no ride, not even a backpack?" He asks me as if he knew exactly I was running away from home. Maybe Pot Guy is running away too from his wife and kids. I mean why would you carry everything in your car?

I don't know what to say. Do I lie more? Do I change the conversation, maybe talk about the weather or the blue sky? Or do I jump off his crappy, rusted 100 B.C wagon? While I look for a lie? Instead, he answers for me.

"Doesn't really matter, kid. It doesn't change anything if you are a runaway, an alien or homeless. You're in my car, and I was generous enough to pick you up off the road. Therefore, where the hell is you heading to," he says.

"Honestly, I don't know. I have nothing planned." I answer, noticing how stupid it sounds. Next time I'll run away, I'll have a plan, and even a plan B.

"Well, Einstein I'm on my way to Austin for two days, and then I'm going back home," he answers. "So I can leave you there if you want or do you prefer somewhere else.

"Sure, I guess," I say knowing I don't have an option. Answering in short sentences only makes me a target with an exclusive Q&A interview with Pot Guy.

Adam, be ready. For not having no more options. For no longer for someone to make you food, well actually my foster parents never made food-always depended on microwaveable meals.

Don't expect people to be good to you. This is a reality. This is life.

God was nice enough to send Pot Guy to give me a ride. Maybe that means this was meant to be. Maybe destiny is giving me a chance, and if it is like this I'm going to take my chances on it.

"Hey, kid, why so quiet," he says. " I'm not going to kill you."

Yeah, that helped.

"Um, I don't know. I'm usually never the person who starts the conversation," I say with my stupid, little voice." Should've just stayed silent.

"Fine, I'll start it." he said," why the hell is you running away."

It's obvious that he knows now for sure.

"How do you?" I uttered.

"Duh, it can't be more obvious. Little kid walking alone on a highway with nothing except a clueless face on," he responds.

"The reason I'm leaving is that there's nothing for me here anymore, in Houston. I hate it here! It's been years since I haven't felt human here," I speak out as the car keeps on driving and driving through the endless highway.

"Why? Let me guess. Your little girlfriend or boyfriend dumped you," he says with glee on his face. "Or worst, you mommy grounded you and she took your iPhone away, how sad. And by proving a point you're running away. Nod if I'm correct."

He smirks.

Fuck him.

"No. Other stuff," I say. I don't want to mention the Worst Day of My Life. I want no pity from Pot Guy, or anybody else.

Not many people know my story. At school, few know and others just think I'm a freak by nature.

After the small conversation, we both keep our mouths shut. The only noise going on between us is the radio.

The car keeps on going and going.

Traffic lights.

Clouds.

Signs.

McDonald's.

Airplanes in the sky.

Airplanes descending.

Many cars.

Almost all of them better than this one.

Endless road.

The day turning into the night.

Cars, trucks, SUV's, eighteen-wheelers, porches, motorcycles, bicycles, vans, etc. I think I've seen every car ever invented pass us.

Each car with a destination. Each car probably going to a place I don't have: a home.